A women's weapon
by maroucia
Summary: Desperate to flee King's Landing and Joffrey's building cruelty, Sansa finds she has no choice left but to use the sole asset she has in order to get the help she needs. Beta-ed by the great Wildsky Sheri.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello girls!_

_Here's the first chapter of a brand new fic I started. I think I should warn you that anyone who doesn't like dubcon should skip this one. _

_This fic takes place in some imprecise moment of the story so don't be surprised if the timeline seems a little confused. Sansa is aged up for obvious reasons but I'm not going to give her a precise age either. _

_I hope you'll enjoy! I can't wait to hear what you all think of this one!_

_(Oh and by the way, this fic should be about 5 or 6 chapters long)_

**Sansa**

The long corridor before her was dark, so dark that Sansa couldn't discern any of what lay more than a few yards ahead of her. All along the old stony walls hung scattered lanterns that glowed dimly but their halos were more blinding than anything else. Careful with each of her steps, Sansa anxiously advanced in the gloom, her hands sweaty and shivering as they held her cloak tightly around her. By finding herself in these parts of the Red Keep at such a late hour, the young girl was well aware that she would almost certainly stumble into the Hound and the prospect of seeing his terrible face take form in the darkness and feeling his steely grip on her wrist was bloodcurdling to her. Anytime she met him by herself, she always felt so exposed and vulnerable, as if he could read through her very soul and gain control over her whole being. _And yet here I am, walking in these areas with the sole purpose of putting myself in his way…_

Her whole body shivering with a mix of cold and nervousness, Sansa kept going through the water-seeping rock alley. Each of her steps followed the last in a succession of automatic movements that made her feel almost as if she wasn't truly marching through the long passage but really dreaming the whole thing. _Or perhaps it is a nightmare,_ Sansa mused, knowing very well it was not. Although her existence had indeed been turned into one over the last year, she had stopped hoping she'd awaken in her bedroom at Winterfell several moon turns ago. The realisation that she would need to find her way out of the trial she was in _by herself_ had recently struck her, and hence here she was, a young maiden lost in the night with a very specific goal in mind.

After days of intense reflection and hesitation, she had finally made up her mind moments earlier and resolved to act on the crazy idea that had sprouted in her head almost a sennight ago. Fearful that her courage would abandon her if she waited so much as an additional minute, Sansa had immediately hurried out of her room and headed for the less recommendable parts of the Red Keep. Even now as she explored the unknown corridors, her resolution was still wavering but a stubborn part of her kept her going anyhow. After all, however weak and helpless she often felt, deep down Sansa was a wolf that yearned to survive more than anything else.

The girl gained a new burst of courage at the thought and she was just starting to feel slightly better when her reflections were abruptly interrupted by the echo of faraway footsteps. _Is it him?_ she wondered, petrified and gaping in the darkness.

"What's the little bird doing here in the middle of the night?" the rough steel-on-rock voice of the Hound resounded from the other side of the long corridor, confirming her suspicions.

In the blink of an eye, the faint confidence Sansa had barely managed to gather vanished into thin air. She had to wonder at that instant if she wouldn't have preferred to run into someone else instead and see her scheme crumble before her than having to proceed with the mission she had given herself. _There's no turning back now,_ she realised, breathing in deeply. Trembling, she watched, wide-eyed, as Sandor Clegane's towering shape took form in the gloom before her.

The strong scent of wine that so often enveloped him quickly reached Sansa's nostrils. _He must be off-duty,_ she surmised. While the man was a well-known drunkard, he was always sober during his shifts. He wasn't wearing his armour either - although he still had his white Kingsguard cloak draped over his shoulders - but was garbed in plain wool breeches and a roughspun tunic instead. Sansa couldn't have prayed for more ideal circumstances; well into his cups and dressed as simply as he was, Sandor Clegane was undoubtedly free of any assignments until dawn. It was almost as if the planets had aligned on Sansa's behalf tonight… the only detail that lacked for everything to be truly perfect was some much needed assurance on her part.

"Shouldn't you be in your room sleeping?" the Hound asked in a mocking tone while seizing her by the upper arm. "What would the king think if he knew his _betrothed_ was out in the dark of night _by herself_?" As usual, the man's face was twisted in a mean scowl but the queer spark that gleamed in his eyes told Sansa that he was amused at finding her here.

"I was… I was lost," Sansa lied. She didn't want to reveal herself so soon. This was not the place.

Snorting, the Hound stared down at her for an instant but Sansa didn't dare meet his gaze for fear she would lose her nerve. "Still don't know your way around the keep, do you? What a helpless little bird you are. You're lucky I found you." With that, the man let go of her arm and put a heavy hand on the back of her shoulder. "Go on, girl. I'll bring you back to that chamber of yours," he rasped, pushing her forward.

Without a word, Sansa obeyed and let Sandor Clegane guide her though the maze of corridors, her eyes politely lowered even though the man was behind her. Her cheeks were burning with shame at the thought of what she intended to do and her heart was beating so loudly that she wasn't even certain she would hear anything if the Hound addressed her. Could she _really_ go through with her plan? It seemed impossible that she found it in her to be so bold. _I have to! Or else, I'll _die_ here in King's Landing. Joffrey will kill me sooner or later and this is perhaps the last chance I'll ever get to flee._

About a sennight ago, Sansa had heard about a great Braavosi ship which had recently anchored at the capital's harbour. Such vessels were certainly common in King's Landing but what differentiated this one from all the others was that its captain had been given permission to dock even though its next destination was White Harbour. Of course as foreigners, the Braavosi weren't expected to stop trading with the Northerners but the fact that the ship would go directly from one side of the divided realm to the other was uncommon enough that Sansa had heard about it.

From the moment she had heard of the unusual visitor, Sansa had daydreamed of watching the capital disappear from the horizon, comfortably installed on the vessel's deck. If only she could find a way to creep out of the castle, everything would go smoothly afterward, she had thought to herself when she first heard about the ship. While she had far fewer jewels than most ladies at court, the necklaces and earrings she possessed would surely suffice to pay for a cabin and once she'd arrived at White Harbour, House Manderly would undoubtedly loan her the sum she needed to travel to Winterfell.

It was useless fantasizing about such a flight though. There was no way Sansa could ever secure a place for herself on the craft and most of all, escape from the Red Keep at all.

If she wished to board the ship, she'd need help, for it was impossible for her to achieve it on her own. Sadly, not a soul cared about her fate in the capital. She was a mere traitor's daughter, despised by most and ignored by all. The sole person that had given her a little of his attention since her father's death was the Hound but although he had often been gentle to her in his own harsh way, the man was still Joffrey's sworn shield. She couldn't possibly ask him to help her escape, Sansa had soon concluded. Sandor Clegane was no selfless knight looking to rescue defenceless maidens at his own risk. He wouldn't waste his energy on such a venture if there was naught he might gain from it and Sansa had nothing to offer in exchange that might interest him anyhow… unless…

A recent conversation Sansa had had with the queen had suddenly come to her mind one afternoon while she was despondently lying on her featherbed and turning the whole situation over for the hundredth time in her mind.

"Tears are not a woman's only weapon, Sansa," the woman had told her on a night she was enjoying lecturing her as she so often did when she was in her cups. "A woman can also use what she has between her legs to get what she wants."

Such crude words coming from a lady's mouth had shocked Sansa. The very thought that a woman might use something as precious as her virtue as a tool to get what she wanted had scandalised her at the time but now… was she not about to heed the queen's advice?

It had taken Sansa _days_ to begin allowing herself to consider the idea properly. When the notion had first crossed her mind, the girl had been completely appalled that she could even ponder something so vile and she had immediately discounted it as utterly insane. Staying intact was crucial for a maiden of high lineage. Her purity was a treasure she should protect and cherish!

Over time though, some very reasonable objections had hit Sansa, one of which had ended up bringing her to change her mind on the matter completely. If she stayed in King's Landing, Joffrey would continue his beatings and as his cruelty kept escalating with each occurrence, the chances that Sansa would survive longer than a few years were obviously quite low. Of what use would her maidenhead be if she lay dead on the throne room's floor? Before her chastity, Sansa had better protect her life for the former had no meaning to a cadaver.

Once the first step of accepting that she might need to sacrifice her maidenhood in order to escape had been taken, Sansa had been confronted with an equally, or perhaps even more frightening prospect… Lying with the Hound.

There was indeed no other man in her surroundings she had any hope of swaying to help her and even with the Hound, she wasn't entirely certain it might work. Sure, she had noticed how he looked at her and was almost sure he had some sort of interest in her. Also, he had commented on her growing body once and saved her from the bread riots without being ordered by anyone but still, there was a risk he might laugh in her face at hearing her proposal. However, it wasn't as if Sansa had many other options and thereby, she had kept trying to convince herself she had to do it over the last couple of days.

The prospect of undressing herself in front of Sandor Clegane, of letting him caress her young body with hands more accustomed of killing than caring for a maiden was also quite terrifying. What if he hurt her? _No, he wouldn't_, she kept repeating to herself as she walked, feeling the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. _The Hound has always been gentle toward me._ Still, whenever Sansa envisioned how his cruel, burned lips would feel against hers and how his scarred cheek would brush against her skin, a shiver of disgust would go down her spine and she would bite her lip in fearful anticipation. _He may be hideous, but if Sandor Clegane can help me get to this ship, I won't stop him from doing whatever he wishes to me. I'll be forever grateful towards him and work very hard not to show him my aversion. _

"Almost there, little bird," the man announced as they began going up the Serpentine stairs. "Next time you go on one of your _nightly visits_ to that buggering godswood you love so much, make certain to follow your usual path. The area you were in is certainly not fitting for a bloody _lady._"

"I thank you, my lord," Sansa muttered, biting her lips. It was slightly ironic that Sandor Clegane would refer to her as a lady when the proposition she was preparing to utter was anything but ladylike.

"Still chirping your empty little words, are you?"

"No, I… I owe you quite a lot, my lord," Sansa answered. Trying to appear more at ease then she truly was, she turned around to look him straight in the eyes and curled her lips in a small, tense smile. If she really wished to lay with the Hound, she had better start gazing at him and giving him more than a little girl's scared glances. "I'm sincerely thankful."

Her attitude seemingly startling him, Sandor Clegane halted and tightened the hold he had on her shoulder. From where he was a couple of steps down from Sansa, they were almost of a height and his frowning face approached hers.

"What game are you playing now, little bird?" he hissed, looking irritated and bemused at once.

"It's not a game!" she cried, both panic-stricken and abashed at how badly her words had been received. "It's the truth I'm telling you, my lord. I… I know you don't have to help me but you always do anyway."

At hearing her reply, the man's eyes widened but then he began staring at her with so much contempt that Sansa barely contained tears from welling in her eyes. His fingers were painfully digging into her shoulder and she was just about to try to shrug him away when he shook his head and pushed her forward.

"You're really a stupid bird, are you? Wasting your pretty little words on me like this," Sandor Clegane hissed as they resumed their ascent.

_I'll never be able to go through with this,_ Sansa repeated to herself once more. She couldn't let it go so easily though. Perhaps a more straightforward approach would work better with the Hound. He was certainly not the kind of man who liked to be flattered after all.

"Here you are, little bird. And no fucking show of gratitude needed here," the man spat when they reached her door.

He was just about to leave and head towards the stairs when Sansa caught him by the sleeve. "Wait! I… I need to talk to you about… _about_ _something._ My lord, please. I have a proposition."

The man's previous bemused expression returned to his terrible face but the hint of a mocking smile curled the corner of his lips this time. "What could a little bird like you have to propose? Doesn't seem to me that your life is full of occasions to haggle over anything."

His response making her even more anxious, Sansa breathed in a few times while she tried vainly to find the perfect way to answer him.

"Go on. I haven't got all night," the Hound ordered when she didn't reply, before taking a gulp from his wineskin.

Breathing in deeply, Sansa decided the time to reveal herself had come. "I… I would like you to… to help me get on the _Travelling Titan_. I can pay for my passage only, I'll never be able to get to the vessel by myself."

On hearing her demand, the Hound nearly choked on his wine. "Let me get this straight, girl. You're asking your betrothed's own buggering sworn shield to help you flee from his master's _loving embrace_?" His eyes narrowing in mirth, the man barked a hoarse and low laugh. "You got more nerve than I believed." A mean grin on his lips, he eyed Sansa with curiosity. "And why would I do something like this, tell me?"

"I would… repay you. I don't have any gold and only a few jewels but I could…" Sansa paused, not certain if she had it in her to finish her sentence.

The Hound was staring at her with a fixed smirk and an incredulous expression in his usually unreadable eyes - as if he had already divined her intention and couldn't believe what he had read in her.

"Tonight I would give you… anything you want… from me," she whispered, each of her words smaller and weaker than the previous one.

At that, Sandor Clegane's eyes grew wide and Sansa began wondering if she had not put herself in more trouble than she ever had in her short existence.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hello everyone!**_

_**For a number of reasons, the second chapter is already done. Don't get used to this pace though; it won't last.**_

**Sansa**

For a long and awkward moment, both Sansa and the Hound stayed silent and still. The only sound that could be heard in the gloom of the corridor was the dripping of moisture as it slowly seeped through the stone wall and ceiling and landed on the floor. Her whole body trembling in horror at what she had just done, Sansa kept her eyes lowered to the ground, too anxious to glance at Sandor Clegane.

"What _exactly_ did you just offer me, girl?" the man suddenly asked, his voice betraying no emotion at all. "Did I really hear you right?"

Sansa was at a loss as to what she might answer. There was no point in denying her intentions as the Hound had clearly understood her meaning and was sure to read any lie she attempted to make him believe. Besides, she couldn't abandon her hopes, no matter how thin, of swaying him to help her flee King's Landing just yet and thereby, recanting her proposition was simply out of question. Still, the situation was so humiliating and nerve-racking that Sansa couldn't help but stare at the ground and stay as quiet as a frightened child.

Obviously displeased by her muteness, Sandor Clegane seized her jaw with tight fingers and lifted her face. "Look at me," he ordered flatly.

Slowly, Sansa raised her gaze and did as he bade her. Surprisingly, he didn't appear half as mad as she expected but still, everything about his stance was mocking and spiteful. As always, he had his ways of intimidating her without doing much and she barely managed not to avert her eyes.

"Did you _truly_ just offer yourself to me, same as any _bloody_ _whore_ would?" the Hound asked sharply once he was certain he had her utmost attention.

The question was so harsh that Sansa felt her whole body turn red and burn from the moment she heard it. "It's not the same," she retorted meekly while lowering her gaze. "I don't want any gold from you," she whispered after a few seconds of silence in the same childlike voice. Then unexpectedly, some meagre courage overtook her and gave her the force she needed to meet his stare again. "What I want to gain from this exchange is _my life_," she added in a tone that sounded almost calm to her ears.

For a short instant, the Hound seemed taken aback by her response but his usual wry expression quickly reappeared on his ravaged face. "Perhaps. Still, why would I be interested in taking a woman that won't even look at me while I bed her?"

Breathing in deeply, Sansa raised her chin as high as possible in Sandor Clegane's steely grip. "I _am_ looking at you now," she stated as convincingly as she could while fighting the impulse to turn her head around as she normally would have.

For the next minute or so, Sandor Clegane intently stared at her, right in the eyes, waiting and expecting her gaze to dart away from him. Obstinately, Sansa kept her own eyes locked on his, adamant in proving to him that he was mistaken - even though she knew in truth he wasn't.

In the end though, she thankfully _did_ fool him.

"Seems like you've grown bold enough to look at me after all," he rasped lowly after a long moment. Although his tone was flat, Sansa read some surprise in it.

Removing his hand from her jaw, he tilted his head, studying her with narrowed eyes. "What exactly did you expect from this _proposition_ of yours again?" he asked, while letting his stare travel over her face in such an odd way that Sansa had to fight a shiver. "Your maidenhead against my help bringing you to that bloody ship? You think your cunt's worth all that trouble to me?"

While his words were harsh, Sansa sensed he was more interested in the trade than he was willing to make it appear and the awareness emboldened her. "These would be the terms," she murmured with a nod. "It wouldn't be much risk to you though. You'd only need to secure a place for myself on the ship and help me escape from the castle once the time comes," she continued, speaking in total ignorance while hoping her words weren't too far from the truth.

"And how could you be certain that I wouldn't take you and forgo my part of the deal once I'm done with you?" the Hound sneered after having drunk a long gulp of wine. "You'd have no one to complain to afterwards if I were not _honest_."

"You're right, of course… but I trust you. I know you're no liar," Sansa whispered softly. "Am I right?" she asked, praying the gods that she was not mistaken, while timidly glancing at him.

Glaring down at her, Sandor Clegane waited a few long seconds but then he snorted and looked away. "Aye, you are," he grunted almost reluctantly. "I'll keep my word… if I agree, that is."

Trembling equally from fear that he would refuse and fright that he would accept, Sansa kept her unassured gaze on him. "And… do you?" she demanded hesitantly.

Clenching his jaw, the Hound began turning around as if he was considering leaving but then, he cocked his head and smirked tightly, all the while never meeting Sansa's gaze. "Perhaps you're not as blind and clueless as you make it appear. After all, you chose your target pretty damned well," he rasped lowly before facing her once more. Grinning in an almost menacing way, Sandor Clegane laughed dryly and looked at her with eyes dark and gleaming. "I _do_ want you. Let me in your bed tonight and you can count on me with your escape."

For an instant, Sansa was too dumbstruck to react. Had her stratagem _truly_ worked? The Hound would help her flee? It was too good to be true. She almost grinned at that instant, but then she remembered what his agreement involved._ I'll be giving myself to him in moments! _she realised with sudden dread. Simultaneously, the man's admission sank in and Sansa's heart began pounding fiercely as she grasped the meaning of his words. Sandor Clegane _was_ _indeed_ trulyattracted to her. Although she had already suspected it and even counted on that supposition, to hear it so openly from his own lips was utterly unsettling.

When the Hound noticed how tense she had grown, he snorted with something like irritation and glowered down at her. "Regretting this already?" he growled, the burned corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

Sansa was as scared and nervous as a bird caught in a cat's mouth, however there was not a chance in all of Westeros that she'd let this opportunity fly away so easily. Swiftly, she took the last step that separated her from Sandor Clegane and laid a hand over his upper arm. "No!" she cried, staring at him with imploring eyes. "Please follow me, my lord," she said in a broken but determined voice before turning around and heading to her door.

An eye blink later, Sansa had stepped inside and the man was locking the door behind him. _That's it! The Hound is going to take my maiden's gift! _she thought as a new surge of panic overwhelmed her. There was no complaining though; that was exactly what she had asked for after all. Besides, thanks to the sacrifice she was about to make, her feet would touch northern ground in less than a moon's turn and that was all that truly mattered in the end. With that in mind, Sansa steadied her breathing and tried to calm herself. It wouldn't do for Sandor Clegane to notice how totally petrified she was if she didn't wish for him to abruptly change his mind. He wanted her to look at him; he had told her so only minutes earlier and Sansa would give him what he desired as best she could. Gathering her courage, the girl went straight to her bed in a trance-like state and sat on its edge. The sooner they were done with it, the better it would be, she tried to convince herself.

Looking unexpectedly uneasy, Sandor Clegane was sweeping his gaze around the chamber when Sansa looked at him again. After what appeared to her as a very long moment, he sighed, settled his now empty wineskin on the table and began unbuckling his sword belt, all the while not even sparing a single glance in her direction. Once he was done, he settled his weapon in the corner of the room and sat on a chair not far from her. Sansa was watching him out of the corner of her eye, her back straight and stiff and her sweaty hands demurely set over her lap in an attempt to keep them from trembling.

"I said I agreed to your terms," the Hound rasped as he started undoing the laces of his boots, his eyes still averted from her. "But I also want you to promise me something first."

Unwilling to refuse him anything at this point, Sansa compliantly nodded as soon as she heard his words.

"This is the last time you'll ever offer yourself like this. Once is fine, but you won't get used to it. _Say it_," he demanded roughly, almost snarling the last words.

Slightly disconcerted, Sansa gulped but nonetheless immediately agreed to his terms. "I promise. This is the last time I'll ever do such a thing."

"Good," the man growled as he kicked his boots off. "I don't want you becoming like one of those buggering _luxury whores_ that crowds the Red Keep," he said, raising his stare. Eyes narrowed at her, the Hound stood and took a step toward the bed. "For all that, I'd be a fool to refuse your offer. Especially now that I know I'll be the last man to whom you'll ever propose anything similar," he added with a smirk.

Biting at her bottom lip, Sansa kept wide eyes fixed on him for some time, feeling the speed of her pulse increase with every passing second. It took her a long moment to realise that Sandor Clegane was probably expecting her to do something. The problem was Sansa had no clue what that might be. _Perhaps… I should undress_, she mused, totally abashed at the prospect. Still, her hands rose to her collar of their own accord and unclasped the brooch of her cloak before letting the large piece of cloth fall over the bed.

The Hound gave her a wry half-smile at that. "That's a start," he rasped sardonically.

A small fire was burning in the hearth and its orange glow was reflecting over the man's burned face, making his scars appear even more gruesome than they actually were – if that was possible. Fighting against her every instinct, Sansa forced herself to look at him and behold the fearsome sight he made with his cruel, gaunt features, long black hair and gloomy demeanour. He was a maiden's nightmare, a giant closer in appearance to an ogre than to the handsome knights Sansa fancied and beyond that, he was so tall and broad that he would surely crush her under his weight while they… they… _Oh gods, what did I get myself into?!_

"Calm down, little bird," the Hound's rough voice interrupted her troubled thoughts.

_I have to gain control over myself, _the girl tried to reason, shaking herself. Was the man annoyed with her for her agitation?

"I've never had a maiden before," Sandor Clegane told her nonchalantly while taking the last step that separated him from the bed. "Nevertheless, only a deaf man has never heard of how _sensitive _you females can be at first. You need not worry; I'll be careful with you as much as I can."

Sansa wasn't certain if his words were supposed to reassure her but at least naught in his attitude indicated her obvious trepidation bothered him in any way. The awareness eased the frantic beating of her heart to a somewhat more regular rhythm but the respite only lasted a few breaths for Sandor Clegane shortly kneeled his imposing body before her. The enormity of him was perhaps even more impressive crouched on the floor than it had been a mere instant before while he stood at his full height and Sansa felt uncomfortably small and fragile next to him. _What is he doing?_ she wondered anxiously while instinctively turning her head around and shutting her eyes. Just as she was doing so, the girl felt the Hound's large hand settle over her cheek. Against her will, she flinched at the contact - exactly as she had promised herself she wouldn't do.

Burying his other hand in her hair, Sandor Clegane began softly caressing her face. "Shhh," he whispered hoarsely. "Calm those bird nerves of yours, there's nothing healthy in being so tense."

The feel of the Hound's fingers stroking over her face was rough, as could be expected from the hands of such a man, but his touch was also unexpectedly gentle. Slowly, he let his thumb and forefinger trace the line of her jaw and the shape of her cheekbone and Sansa began to relax – if only slightly – but still, she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. Yet even in the darkness she voluntarily kept herself in, she could sense how hungrily the man was staring at her and she was beginning to doubt she'd ever find the courage to contemplate his lust in truth.

Steadily, the Hound's warm breath brushed against the side of her face, however its heat couldn't stop Sansa from shivering at the proximity they were in. "Could you truly be cold with that fire burning in the hearth… or are you trembling from _fright_?" Sandor Clegane asked in a dry but queerly not ungentle tone. Softly, he lowered his hand over Sansa's neck and caressed it lightly with his knuckles. "Tell me, little bird. What scares you most? Losing your maidenhead or lying with me?"

For an instant, Sansa couldn't find her voice. What was she supposed to reply to such a question? There was no point in lying to the Hound! He had probably already guessed the answer for all she knew anyhow. She would need to find a way to tell the truth while not saying it in such a fashion that she risked displeasing him.

"Both daunt me equally," Sansa breathed after a few seconds of awkward silence. "I'm a maiden after all… and you… are an intimidating man."

At that, the Hound chuckled as softly as his gruff voice allowed. "Fair enough. I've heard it said often enough not to blame you for it."

Circling his hand over her throat, his face approached Sansa's neck and he settled his mouth on its side, his lips warm and wet against her smooth skin. At the contact, the girl instantly gasped in surprise, eyes popping open when she felt the man's tongue lazily trail over the softness that lay there. In a heartbeat, the queerest sensation Sansa had ever known rose from the center of her being and spread all over the rest of her body with the same intensity and speed of a flash of lighting cutting through the sky.

Confused by her own reaction, Sansa inhaled deeply, hopeful that the action might allow her to tame her rebellious core, but then the Hound bit at the tender skin and the same strange sensation once more flowed over her. This time, Sansa couldn't hold back a soft moan from escaping her lips._ What is happening to me?_ she wondered in a mix of confusion, fear and… something else – _mysterious and strange_ - that she couldn't quite figure out.

_**Author's note: I know I'm a bad person for writing this story but I'm not sorry. **_


	3. Chapter 3

Oh my! This one is _finally_ done! I hope I won't disappoint. Don't forget to tell me what you think! :)

**Sansa**

At the sound of her moan, the Hound backed slightly away from Sansa and glanced at her for a short instant, a spark of disbelief shining in his dark eyes. _Did I do something wrong? _the girl wondered, heart pounding and lips slowly opening in a small O. The scale of her ignorance where _these_ _things_ were concerned was rapidly starting to hit her in all its overwhelming enormity. True, she did have a general idea of what a husband did to his wife once the candles were blown out at night but still, Sansa had neither been taught the details of the act nor how one was supposed to behave before, during and after the deed. Now that the terms of her trade with the Hound had been agreed upon and the time had arrived for her to do her part, Sansa was swiftly realising with building dismay that she had no true notion of what she had offered. The thought was nerve-wracking to say the least. Dread at how the towering man kneeling before her would use her young and inexperienced body to gain his pleasure was quickly overpowering her. Still, what was truly scaring Sansa at that moment was that she may have unknowingly done anything that might displease Sandor Clegane before their agreement could be sealed and thereby, that their agreement would be suddenly cancelled. While she couldn't let that happen, Sansa was at a total loss as to how she was supposedto divine and then _prevent_ something of which she was completely clueless.

Thankfully though for now, the Hound's expression was not one of annoyance; far from it even. It was subtle, yet Sansa could see how the unburned corner of his lips had curled, very slightly. The look in his eyes was unmistakable - even for a maiden as innocent as she. He wanted her and wouldn't wait very long before he took what had been promised…

_Good_, Sansa tried to convince herself as she stiffly shifted her position. She knew she ought to be happy that the Hound hadn't been put off by any of her maidenly reactions so far but her mind wasn't on the same page as her shivering body. Extensively agitated, Sansa was quickly losing control over herself again, feeling her blood pulse through her veins with building pressure and beads of sweat form over the fair skin of her brow.

Her breathing was coming unevenly by now, causing her breasts to heave up and down with increasing evidence and the movement shortly attracted Sandor Clegane's attention. Brazenly, he let his stare fall over the soft swell that peaked at the top of Sansa's modest cleavage and his eyes instantly darkened. While the awareness that he was so bluntly staring at her body made her uneasy, the same strange throbbing she had experienced seconds earlier once more took root in the depths of her loins.

Dazed, Sansa shut her eyes in an attempt to overcome the chaos in her but the man chose that moment to lay his large hands over the top of her breasts. The gesture – albeit to be expected – was anything but that for the maiden. Fighting the impulse to push him away, Sansa tensed but stayed still. Without a word, the Hound began untying the fine laces that kept her light dress closed and fear quickly chased away any furtive trace of budding pleasure the girl had briefly started to experience. Gulping, she tossed her head back and compliantly let him do what he needed.

"What kind of knot has your damned handmaiden invented here, little bird?" Sandor Clegane grumbled impatiently after having mumbled a couple of unintelligible oaths.

At that, Sansa let out a short, nervous laugh but that wasn't enough to loosen the knot that – in an absurdly similar state to her bodice – was now painfully twisting her stomach. The force and speed of her heartbeat had reached such an impressive level that she was _certain_ the Hound could feel it hammering through his fingers as he fought to undo her gown. If he did though, the man refrained from commenting and for that, Sansa was thankful as getting teased on her evident anxiety was the last thing she needed if she hoped to relax at all.

For all his cursing, the Hound inevitably prevailed over the laces and the fresh air of the room soon enveloped Sansa's curves. Goosebumps immediately covered her skin and the girl bit at her bottom lip at the sharp sensation, fighting to steady her breathing. Somehow, she managed to neither quiver too much nor attempt to cover her nudity, as every fibre of her being ordered her to. She couldn't refuse Sandor Clegane anything after all, she reminded herself. _Is he going to lift my skirts and take me now?_ she wondered in fearful anticipation.

She waited then, trembling and ready for anything and yet, for a long moment afterward, naught happened. The only sounds that could be heard in the darkness of the room were those of the crackling fire in the hearth and for Sansa, her pulse pounding in her ears. The silence was beyond oppressive to her and worry that the shape of her body wasn't to the Hound's taste was hastily sprouting in her mind. What if, unknown to her and kept secret by her lady mother and handmaidens, she wasn't formed correctly and the view of her bare body disgusted the man? Swiftly, the idea began shrouding the very thin self-confidence she had had to begin with when she voiced her proposition to Sandor Clegane but then, just as she was about to truly doubt her normality, thick fingers pushed aside the layers of lace that still stood in their way and settled over the tips of her nipples, softly pinching them and playing with their hardness.

The sensation of the tender pressure exerted by those robust hands was unlike anything Sansa had ever experienced previously and she barely managed not to let out a whimper at the feeling. Unsettled, she inhaled deeply but couldn't conceal the sound of the violent breath she let out when the Hound shaped the entire roundness of her breasts with his large palms.

Grunting in satisfaction - either at her reaction or at the softness of her skin, Sansa couldn't tell - Sandor Clegane began kneading her breasts more firmly and the girl had to bite hard at her lip to stay silent.

The Hound's warm breath was caressing the top of Sansa's curves, telling her that both his stare and attention were completely absorbed by her body and giving her the courage she needed to discreetly glimpse down at him. There was no denying it: while she blushed at the notion, her curiosity was also quickly winning and compelling her to have a look. Carefully, she opened her eyes slightly and just as she did, Sandor Clegane lowered his head over her breasts and - with a hand that seemed almost brown in contrast with the paleness of her skin – guided one of her hardened nipples into his burned mouth.

The sight of this ravaged man, with a face covered with _terrible_ _dark scars_, devouring the pure whiteness of her young curves was as much incongruous as it was shocking and sent chills all over Sansa's body from the moment she beheld it. In a flash, she realised how similarly a black wolf eats a ewe, how fiends abuse the ethereal creatures they capture in the stories she had been told in her childhood… So alike was the contrast between her and the Hound.

As he sucked at her pink nipples, she could hear him panting in the same manner a man might when worn out by some sort of physical prowess. The notion was puzzling as Sandor Clegane was clearly in shape to face far harder challenges than those offered by a lithe girl. Still, he kept ardently switching from one nipple to the other and nuzzling at her curves with the same queer and mysterious weariness.

The sensation of his rough lips and teeth nibbling at her tender buds and of his tongue, soft and supple as it licked at her skin, somehow revived that curious vibration in the depths of Sansa's core. Losing control over herself for the space of a single second, the girl let a small moan escape her lips. At the sound of her own licentious cry, she tensed and tried to dominate her senses, adamant about not appearing bizarre in the Hound's eyes.

It was too late though, for her whimper took the man out of the frenzy he had been in. Almost immediately, he raised his head and stared straight at Sansa, his face only inches from hers, and his lips gradually curled into a wolfish grin. His long black hair was tangled over his face and somewhat covering his scars but the girl could unmistakably see the wildness of his eyes between the matted tendrils and she almost gasped at the terrifying strength of his desire for her.

Then, in one rapid movement Sandor Clegane pushed Sansa onto her back and hovered over her, seemingly unperturbed by the yelp he elicited from her. Clutching at her waist, he grunted softly as he buried his face into her neck and sniffed at her hair in a manner very like that of a dog and Sansa's eyes went wide at the similitude. His body was so heavy over hers and the studded leather of his jerkin was boring into her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. Already she felt small and vulnerable against so big and strong a man and naught _real_ had happened yet. What would it be like when he… he…

Still, however frightened and defenceless she was, warmth was hastily flowing from her centre and whirling to the very tips of her limbs in a fashion so new, exciting, peculiar and troubling… Slowly letting go, Sansa felt herself gradually going softer and shockingly, she couldn't find it in her to truly mind the carelessness she was apparently starting to fall into. _Perhaps I have it in me to go through with this after all,_ she reflected, almost believing her own thought until something hard and seemingly _very big_ rubbed against her thigh.

As the notion of what that _thing _undoubtedly was hit her, Sansa's breath caught in her throat and her previous and very brief hope of finally having won over her nervousness crumbled upon itself as easily as a house of cards blown by a violent gust of wind. She had never seen a grown man's member and the apparent size of the Hound's shaft was certainly disconcerting. Of course, it was only logical that a male so tall and broad be also proportionate _down there_, but still! Why did her _only_ potential ally have to be the most _imposing_ warrior she knew?!

Seemingly not noticing her distress, the Hound pushed his manhood even harder against her side all the while reaching for the hem of her dress and pulling it up to her waist. At the contact of the fresh air, the slender muscles of Sansa's legs contracted all the way to her feet, her toes curling upon themselves and digging into the featherbed.

Panting, Sandor Clegane glanced down at the pale pulled-up legs he had uncovered and began stroking the thigh nearer to him with a heavy hand, pushing down her high, thin silk stocking. Taut under his possessive touch, Sansa threw her head back and breathed in deeply, adamant about taming the fear that was permeating her courage once more, same as it was sure to anytime a new line was crossed that night.

With a grunt, the man then abruptly stood up. "Get out of that dress," he demanded in an almost playful whisper while seizing both of Sansa's small hands in his own and pulling her to her feet.

Biting at her lip, the girl hesitated for an instant, feeling suddenly very self-conscious and shy to expose herself even more. Involuntarily, she folded her arms before her for a very short moment but there was no sense in the gesture. Shutting her eyes for a heartbeat, she reminded herself of the motive that had brought her there and began loosening the laces that had been left untouched by the Hound before pulling her dress over her head.

Sandor Clegane's eyes roved over her nakedness from the second she was freed from her gown and Sansa's whole body instantly became even more red and burning – if that was possible. Laying his hands over the small of her back, the man dragged her against him and lowered his face over the curve of her neck, biting her there.

"Come now, let's make you a woman," he rasped, pushing her gently onto the bed. Then, just as she bounced on the mattress he seemed to remember something and lifted her again. "Wait," he told her. Raising his hands to his collar, the Hound undid the clasp that kept his Kingsguard cloak tied around his shoulders and threw the large piece of cloth over the bed. "You don't want your handmaidens to find any proof of your _misconduct_ tomorrow morning, I'll wager," he said, glancing down slyly at her.

At that, Sansa raised a hand to her mouth and gasped. "Oh, thank you, my lord!" she exclaimed, grateful that he'd think about it. The notion that she had _completely_ forgotten about such an important detail sent a chill all the way down her spine. "But your cloak... don't you think that -?"

The Hound cut her off with a mocking snort before she had a chance of finishing her sentence. "You think anyone will give a fucking shit about a few drops of blood over the so very _pure_ white of my cloak?" Laughing dryly, he grabbed Sansa by the waist and brought her over the mattress again. "If anything, your maiden blood will make the mucky think _purer_."

Biting at his bottom lip, Sandor Clegane studied her for a few heartbeats, all the while settling a hand over her flat belly. Slowly, he let it slide over her silk underclothes and seized one of the delicate ribbons that held it in place. _That's it,_ Sansa thought, shutting her eyes. A moment later, both of Sandor Clegane's hands were clasping the last of her garments and bringing them down. Against her will, she let out a small cry at the feel of the fine fabric slipping all the way from her thighs to her ankles and of her soft stockings following until the light pieces of fabric all noiselessly fell onto the floor. Instinctively, she brought her knees together and squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. _No. The Hound must not know how frightened I am_, she told herself although there was no way she acted otherwise.

"You truly are a sweet little thing, believe my word on that," the Hound muttered while moving over her and spreading her bare legs. "I knew it already, but now…" Lowering his head, he bit at the soft skin of her inner thigh and inhaled deeply at the scent of her before moving back and standing up.

Although she kept her eyes closed, Sansa could hear him moving and fumbling with something that couldn't be mistaken for anything but his clothes. Against her own will, she raised her head and peered upward. When she opened her eyes, Sandor Clegane was already bare chested and unlacing his breeches. The sight of his hairy, muscled torso and of all the scars that covered him sent her heart racing frantically. There was naught reassuring about the idea that this incredibly powerful man would soon cover her frail body with his and invade her as-yet unspoiled sanctuary… and still… why did the view of him revive that queer ache she had almost forgotten about? She was frightened but her fear was not pure; it was marred with something else she couldn't understand.

As Sansa was tormenting herself with these unanswerable questions, Sandor Clegane's breeches and underclothes fell to the ground and her eyes widened at the sight that awaited her.

The Hound snorted a short laugh at her response. "You've never seen a man, of course," he rasped lowly, a smirk curling his lips. "I'm not used getting such a reaction. Some whores are surprised but you…" he trailed off, his smirk evolving into a wicked half-grin.

Petrified, Sansa threw her head sideways and hid her eyes in the rough cloth of the man's cloak. "I'm sorry, my lord, I-"

"No need for that. Now calm yourself. I told you I'd be careful, didn't I?"

_He has. He has,_ Sansa reminded herself as she felt his weight settling over her body. His skin was warm against hers and his hands strong as they parted her legs wide. Very briefly, she had glimpsed his manhood a moment ago and the concept that something so big and terrifying would soon enter the depths of her core was totally out of her grasp._ Every woman goes through that experience sooner or later. This is no different,_ Sansa tried to reassure herself.

The hardness of the man's shaft was rubbing against her belly and mound and all the while, his mouth was exploring her neck and upper breasts, his hands her ribs and waist. And then suddenly, his fingers went down to her navel and reached the juncture of her thighs, sliding between her folds. The sensation it brought was overwhelming. Sansa had touched herself down there in the past to clean herself or on a few rare occasions out of naughty curiosity, but never before had that part of her been so responsive. Against her will, a whimper escaped her lips.

"Not too bad, is it?" Sansa heard the Hound's husky voice murmur in her ear.

Abashed, Sansa neither wished to displease the man nor to lie to him – the feeling had indeed been… not painful. "No…" she breathed, her skin bright with shame.

"Mmm… good," he rasped, stroking his fingers more vigorously.

Instinctively, Sansa arched her back against him, feeling the solidity of his muscles against her. _It won't be so terrible, _she told herself as Sandor Clegane caressed the singular wetness that was seeping from her lady's parts, the gesture sending shocks throughout her body.

But then, just as she was only barely starting to relax, the man aimed his swollen member at her entrance. Sansa stiffened and gasped instantly. She could sense how big he was already and he had not even begun entering and the idea that he would in a question of seconds froze her at once.

Laying both her hands over his shoulders, she clutched desperately at the muscles she found there. "Be careful! Please!" she cried, instantly blushing at her outburst.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you. Remember, little bird?" Pausing, Sandor Clegane's eyes sparkled and a small smirk appeared on his ravaged features. "Well… as much as I could, that is."

"Yes," Sansa breathed meekly. "I do remember."

"Then relax. It won't be so bad."

She did trust his words and yet, how could a maiden be calm while the member of a man that was at least more than twice her size and weight poked at her entrance? Breathing in, she shut her eyes and attempted to soothe her nerves. _He'll be careful, he'll be-_

White lightning as powerful as the strongest thunderstorm suddenly overtook her. Against her will, Sansa cried out as she felt her body being invaded so very deeply by another. Without even realising it, she clung to the man that dominated her slender self and dug her nails into his rough skin.

"Hush!" the Hound hissed. "You don't want to alert the whole Red Keep, do you?"

"No… no, I'm sorry, my lord. I… I…"

"No need for apologising, little bird. All is fine. Just keep quiet," then man murmured almost softly before resuming the thrusting of his hips against hers.

_It's done! It's done!_ Sansa told herself as she felt the burning of her womanhood very slowly dispel. From now on, she knew _without a doubt_ that the accord she and the Hound had agreed upon couldn't be reversed. He had taken her maidenhead and naught could change it. The idea allowed her to relax slightly, even though her body was seemingly being cut open.

Nevertheless, the exchange was still far from over and the man shortly became more vigorous in his movements, shoving himself within her with increasing force. Never before had Sansa felt so robbed of her privacy; not only was her centre being assailed almost savagely but her whole self was engulfed by the Hound. His scent was seemingly _everywhere_ around her, musky and strong and swirling into her nostrils.

Somehow though - and albeit Sansa felt raw between her thighs - the friction of Sandor Clegane's manhood inside her was oddly getting less painful and morphing into something else entirely. With each thrust, she gasped and as she knew their deal had been sealed, she didn't feel as compelled as she had previously to keep herself in check. It didn't matter anymore if she groaned and it seemed weird to the Hound; he would help her flee nonetheless. True, she was still timid about those puzzling compulsions she had but there was no more real urgency to hide them and the awareness brought her an unexpected sense of relief.

It was a good thing because the comings-and-goings of Sandor Clegane's shaft in her were swiftly waking something Sansa didn't even know was hidden in her. She didn't understand what was taking her but she suddenly longed to hold his brawny body against hers as he possessed her.

Moaning, she arched herself and let the Hound claim her without resistance. His manhood was huge and powerful between her thighs but somehow, it was sliding easily. So often throughout the years of her captivity she had felt so insufferably small and feeble and now that she was dominated by the sturdiest man she knew, it was almost as if by clinging to him she could claim some his strength for herself and the illusion was fortifying. He was so strong… no one could hurt him.

Craning her neck, Sansa gazed up at her assailant's face and was immediately struck by the look of him. Although still as fierce and intent as they usually were, his eyes were no longer filled with the rage that always cloaked them. There was a passion and a longing there that she would never have suspected _in a million years_ might possibly be hidden in him. For a heartbeat, their stares locked and it was as if the thirst she read in him imbued her.

Without thinking, she let her hands travel from his bulky arms to the solidity of his chest. All the while, a deep cry escaped her mouth and she spread her thighs even farther apart to give the man the space he needed to thrust himself even deeper inside of her.

It was getting… pleasurable, Sansa realised with stupefaction from the trance-like state she was engulfed in and so she instinctively folded her legs around the Hound's broad hips. Seemingly pleased by her reaction, the man laid his lips over her neck, gently biting at the skin – but still with undeniable hunger. The girl moaned but then the strangeness of their encounter abruptly hit her. They weren't lovers, that was true enough but still, how empty the act they shared seemed. How bizarre was it that they could do what they did _and yet not kiss_? Not only was it awkward but it was… illogical… _unnatural_ even.

Sansa didn't want to kiss him; he was hideous with his terrible burned face and besides, he was also a very hateful man with eyes that burned with wrath anytime they beheld the world that surrounded them. Every coherent fibre of her being told her she should just forget about it and let him take her as he did - strenuously and impersonally - and yet… it felt so wrong.

It was her first time after all and although it wouldn't mean anything, she needed the very important symbol that the encounter of their lips would bring. Why? She couldn't tell but thus was the calling of her heart and thereby, she circled her arms around Sandor Clegane's sturdy neck and pressed her lips against his.

The man had been so absorbed by his actions that she had to pull him toward her; still he didn't resist and even opened his mouth and plunged his tongue against hers from the moment their lips met.

Kissing the Hound was a strange thing. Although a part of Sansa wanted to be disgusted at the idea that she could share something so intimate with so horrible a man, most of her was transported by the feeling. His lips and tongue were meeting hers in a manner that was almost that of a queer dance, a dance unknown by all _until now_ and that they were both discovering with the same unexpected fascination… one that had been forgotten through the ages of time and reserved for no-one else but them. _What am I thinking?_ Sansa scolded herself, briskly removing her lips from the Hound's.

Growling in complaint at her abrupt withdrawal, the man glared at her very shortly but then, he promptly retook himself and quickened his thrusts, seizing Sansa firmly by the waist to guide the sliding of his member. "Little bird," he breathed, before unexpectedly pushing her away and rolling onto his back. Letting out a deep cry, he stroked his manhood with a tight grip until it exploded over his belly in long, white splashes.

Glancing sideways, Sansa stared at Sandor Clegane for a long time - her legs still wide open before her in a most unladylike fashion. Both dizzy and confused, it took her almost a minute to realise what had just taken place. _It's done! It's done! The deal is done! _she cried out inwardly, not believing it herself.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Here's a small one to start off the week on the right foot! As you'll see, it's really a continuation of the previous chapter. I hope you'll enjoy! :)**_

**Sansa**

For a long time, they both regained control over their breathing, suddenly alone on their respective sides of the bed while moments earlier they had been joined so intimately. The separation was queer, unsettling even after the previous unexpected passion Sansa had just experienced. Had she _really_ kissed the Hound? The notion was petrifying! Her plan had been to trade her maidenhood for his help in escaping from King's Landing but somehow, the whole experience had incomprehensibly gotten much more intense. She felt unfulfilled now, as if she had been longing for something _more_... but no, that was absurd. What more could she possibly have been aspiring to gain from their encounter than her freedom?

Out the corner of her eyes, Sansa could see Sandor Clegane's large, hairy chest heaving up and down as the man lay on his back, his eyes peacefully shut. She didn't dare make a single sound or even shift from her place for fear she would disrupt him; there was really no divining which mood he'd be in once he returned to his senses after all. Still, some incurable instinct drew her to bring her legs together when the impropriety of her position finally hit her and at the movement, the Hound's eyes instantly popped open.

At the sight, Sansa's breath caught in her throat and a new wave of nervousness illogically flew over her. There was no reason for her to be so agitated anymore - her deal with Sandor Clegane had been irrevocably sealed after all – but still, there was no controlling the frantic beating of her heart as she waited for him to say something. For what appeared as an eternity though, the man stayed silent and only stared at the emptiness before him, seemingly lost in his thoughts, but then his eyes narrowed with scorn and the corner of his mouth twitched.

With a grunt, the Hound stretched his massive body and glanced at Sansa, his usual scowl already twisting his face. "I'd best get going," he rasped dryly, sitting up. Carelessly, he bowed and rubbed off the seed that was still splattered over his belly with his Kingsguard cloak before rising to his feet. Wasting no time, he immediately reached for his underclothes and put them on as soon as he got a hold of them. "That ship you told me about… what was it named again?" he asked nonchalantly once the garment was well in place.

"The _Travelling Titan_," Sansa promptly answered while propping herself up on her hands and sitting up.

"I'll get you safely into one of its cabins before it leaves King's Landing; you can rest assured now," the man muttered flatly while retrieving his breeches from the floor. As he rose to his full height, he glanced at Sansa, his stare brazenly travelling down her naked curves.

Finally realising how bare she was, the girl drew her legs up and folded her arms over her breasts in a vain attempt at modesty. "I thank you so much for your help, my lord," she answered meekly, feeling her cheeks redden.

Giving her a sidelong glance, Sandor Clegane continued, somewhat irritated. "No bloody need to be _grateful_, girl. You've done your part, now let me do mine." Without looking at her, he slid both his legs into his breeches and began lacing them back up.

Silence stretched between them for a time and Sansa was quickly absorbed by an ocean of thoughts. Absent-mindedly, she followed the Hound with her eyes as he wandered through the room, searching for his tunic. It was hard to believe that the beast of a man that stood before her – one that many might consider a vision from the seven hells - had covered her whole body so very completely moments earlier, kissing her with fierce tenderness while invading her womanhood with undeniable finality. Never would she have envisioned the man that would take her maiden gift to be so impressively muscled, tall and covered with scars as Sandor Clegane was, but then again all males looked small and unmarred in contrast to him.

Breathing in deeply, the Hound grabbed his tunic and let it fall in place over the broadness of his torso, the rough fabric covering the dark line of hair that grew over his stomach and abruptly taking Sansa out of her musings.

"Oh! I'd almost forgotten!" she exclaimed as remembrance hit her. Rolling onto her side, she let her arm fall beside the featherbed and caught her dress on the floor, swiftly pulling it over her head and standing up. Her fingers fumbling clumsily over the loose laces of her gown, Sansa ran to her drawers. "You need my jewels!" she added, as she unlocked her jewellery box.

With a questioning grunt, the Hound turned in her direction and impatiently gazed down at her.

"I told you I'd give them to you to pay for my passage, remember?" Sansa explained, glancing shyly at him while gathering her earrings and necklaces.

"Right," Sandor Clegane replied in a tone that sounded strangely annoyed.

Settling his leather jerkin over his shoulders, he took a few slow steps toward Sansa until he was less than half a yard from her, his large figure casting a shadow over her. The girl felt as intimidated by their proximity as she had ever been, which was certainly odd considering how the warmth of his skin had brushed all over hers only a few minutes ago. _Or perhaps is it the very notion of what has transpired between us that makes me so uneasy,_ Sansa mused, feeling herself blush as the man watched her put the jewels into a scarf.

"Here, my lord," she told him while handing him the bundle, barely able to meet his eyes.

At that, the Hound's mouth twitched and he snorted with something like contempt but he took the jewels anyway. Briefly, he weighed them in his large hand before sighing and settling them over the table by his side. "You have more than you need for your passage in here. I'll make sure you get the most possible out of it."

"I thank you for that, my lord," Sansa replied reflexively while gazing at him through her lashes.

"I told you already: there's _no_ _fucking_ _need_ to be thankful for anything I do, girl," the man hissed, his scowl deepening as he lowered his face toward her.

Taken aback by the harshness of his reaction, Sansa jumped and recoiled from him, her back hitting her drawers as she did so.

Seemingly calming down just as soon, the Hound closed in on her and raised his hand to her face, letting his knuckles trail down from her cheek to her neck. "As I see it anyhow, I've gotten the best side of our _little deal," _he murmured, the hint of a smirk curving his lips and a spark passing through his dark eyes. "Don't you agree, _little bird_?"

"I..." Sansa trailed off, unsure of how she was supposed to answer such a question.

Snorting, Sandor Clegane removed his hand from Sansa, the corner of his mouth pulling into a frown. "Enough talk. I'd best go now before one of your handmaidens comes for a surprise visit and catches me here. I won't be of much help getting you out of here if my head is adorning the Red Keep's buggering battlement." With that, he turned around and went to retrieve his sword belt from the corner of the room.

As he left her, Sansa let out a deep breath she was unaware she had been holding. Her back as taut as a bow and with her hands demurely clasped before her, she watched the Hound buckle his belt around his broad hips. Suddenly, she glimpsed something shifting at her side and her eyes immediately darted in the movement's direction. _It's only my reflection,_ the girl mused, feeling very foolish at having been frightened by a stupid mirror. Gazing distractedly into the glass, she quickly felt her eyes grow wide at the view of the tangled disarray her hair had become. _Oh! I'm a total mess! _she thought, horrified. Her curls weren't the worst of it though; her bodice only barely covered her breasts and Sansa gasped as she eyed the depth of her cleavage. In haste, she raised her hands to her laces and began tightening them more until the swell of her breasts was less evident.

From the chair he had lowered himself into, Sandor Clegane let out a low, hoarse laugh and Sansa jerked her head toward him from the moment she heard it. The man had halted in the lacing of his boots to gaze at her with eyes both mocking and lustful. "Why so eager to cover yourself? Didn't I just fuck you? As I remember it, those pretty white teats you seem so adamant about hiding were in my mouth only moments ago."

Speechless, Sansa stared at him for a few heartbeats, her cheeks burning red. "But you've dressed too!" she retorted once she found her voice again.

"That's because _I'm leaving_," he explained, a wolfish half-grin slowly forming on his lips. "If you're certain no one will disturb us and you really want me to stay, I'll take off my clothes again."

At that, Sansa's mouth opened in shock but no sound came out.

"Didn't think you would," Sandor Clegane grumbled, his grin souring slightly. "Still, that doesn't mean you have to hurry covering yourself as if I'd never seen you."

Her cheeks hot with embarrassment at the man's crude suggestions, Sansa lowered her eyes to the floor and kept silent.

After a moment of stillness, the Hound grunted and resumed the fastening of his boots. "_Right_. I've got what I wanted and now, I have no fucking place to complain – is that it?" he muttered with barely-hidden bitterness.

Sansa was too ill at ease to reply; the whole situation was completely out of her comfort zone and there was naught in her education that had prepared her to face anything even slightly similar.

"You've got the right of it, _of course_," the man added exactly as if she had acquiesced to his intimation. Uttering a humourless, dry laugh, Sandor Clegane stood and stalked toward the door in one rapid movement. "I'm out of here."

The abruptness of his departure took Sansa out of the muteness she had shielded herself with just as briskly. "Oh! Wait!" she exclaimed. In a hurry, she ran to the table and seized the bundle she had hidden her jewels in. With the same speed, she turned around but slowed her pace at once when she saw the Hound - all sombre and imposing – standing on the doorstep. "Here, my lord," she told him timidly once she reached him. Their proximity was once more unsettling to her, inducing the rhythm of her pulse to increase and her stomach to flutter so very queerly.

Snorting, the Hound took the jewels from Sansa's hands and tilted his head, his narrowed eyes boring into hers. "I guess we'll see each other at court tomorrow. Until then – and even after - make certain not to draw any attention to yourself. Act the same as you would any other buggering day."

Nodding, Sansa watched as he opened the door and then closed it behind him.

From the instant his imposing shape left the room, the girl felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted from her shoulders. She was grateful to the Hound for accepting her offer and promising her his help – no matter how he obviously didn't want her to be - but his presence alone was enough to make her feel extremely intimidated, especially after what had just taken place between them. Some time alone to think everything over was all she truly yearned for.

"Little bird," Sansa heard from outside the door just as she was about to push its heavy bolt closed. At the sound of the Hound's hoarse voice, she grew anxious all over again.

"What is it, my lord?" she asked in a voice small like a child's as she opened it for him.

"My cloak," he simply said, staring down at her through the ajar door.

Sansa's heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she heard his words. What a total _catastrophe_ it would have been if he had not remembered and she'd have been stuck with such damning evidence of their treason to the king! Without delay, she ran to her bed and grabbed the large piece of cloth. _My maiden blood!_ she thought to herself as she glimpsed the red spattering that now stained the rough, white wool. It was strange to reflect upon the meaning that simple drop of blood held but she didn't have time to ponder it and quickly gave the piece of fabric back to Sandor Clegane instead.

Nearly snatching it from her hands, he grunted and his mouth twitched slightly. "Now I'm going for real. Have sweet dreams, little bird. I know I will," he rasped lowly, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he said his last words before he pushed the door shut.

Immediately bolting the lock, Sansa turned around and pressed her back against the door, breathing in deeply as she listened to Sandor Clegane's retreating footsteps. When she was certain he was not going to come back, she strode to her featherbed and jumped onto the mattress, a wave of clashing feelings overwhelming her from the instant she lay over the thick covers. Her confusion was acute and as her anxiety dropped, she finally realised how tired she was but she couldn't allow herself to rest just yet. First, she needed to clean up and change into a nightgown and thus, with a sigh, she stood up and put all her attention into those mundane tasks for a time, knowing very well that her mind would soon be overtaken by images of what had taken place tonight and that she was perhaps living her last moments of peace.


	5. Chapter 5

_**New chapter! I hope you'll enjoy! :)**_

**Sansa**

Sophia, one of Sansa's handmaidens, had just opened the window to freshen the place and was installing herself by the bath when a cool burst of morning air entered the chamber. At the chilly contact against her naked skin, Sansa shivered and immediately sank her shoulders under the steaming water.

"Could my lady please keep her back straight? I won't be able to clean you properly otherwise," the handmaiden gently complained.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sophia," Sansa replied while wearily bracing her back.

It was barely past dawn but the girl had been awake for more than a couple of hours by now. Her sleep hadn't been peaceful at all to say the least. Throughout the last night, she had kept rolling between her covers, certain she could still smell the Hound's scent oozing from her skin despite that fact that she had sponged her body with cold water and rubbed it as vigorously as she could with fragranced soap until her skin was as pink as a newborn's. When she finally fell into oblivion, her dreams had been filled with his dark and invasive presence and she had woken with a start mere hours later. That anyone couldn't divine that Sandor Clegane had been in her chamber come morning had seemed impossible. That traces of him on her wouldn't be visible to anyone with a fit pair of eyes had appeared similarly _inconceivable_ but she had wondered desperately what more she could do that she hadn't done already?

When the first rays of light had entered her room, sunbeams had fallen over the table and Sansa's sleepy eyes had grown wide with fright in an instant as she glimpsed the Hound's wineskin, still laid _exactly_ where the man had left it the previous night. _How could we both have forgotten about it?_ she had reflected in panic while jumping out of her bed and running to the table. There had been no time to ponder it though as Sansa's handmaidens usually arrived at first light and so the girl had grabbed the wineskin, strode to her window and thrown the thing out of it as far as she could. A lost wineskin in the courtyard wouldn't raise an eyebrow, would it? While Sansa drank a glass of sweet wine with most of her meals, the Hound's rough preferences were certainly not what one might expect to find in a young maiden's chamber and hence, ridding herself of the incongruous object had been _imperative_.

_A young maiden's chamber_, Sansa bitterly repeated to herself, eyes shut with despair. She had lost all right to that title yesterday and although people would still be calling her as such until the day she wed, she would _never_ deserve the name again. _How will I not blush in shame every time I hear the word?_ Sansa wondered, while folding her arms around her pulled-up legs. There was something very unfair about it all. With her upbringing, she knew well enough the value of keeping her purity. It wasn't as if she hadn't wished to follow the precept either - Sansa was a good girl after all - but no! She truly had had no other choice…

When her handmaidens had arrived shortly afterwards, she had been lying in bed, pretending to still be asleep. The women had hurriedly begun their usual routine of tidying up the place but Sansa had quickly interrupted them and demanded that warm water be brought to her room as soon as possible. She had vainly hoped that a bath might purge her of the memory of Sandor Clegane's hands roaming all over her skin and yet, now that she sat in her large adorned brass bath, the feel of his palms and fingers exploring her every inch was still as fresh as ever.

"Stretch backward, Lady Sansa," Sophia suddenly asked. The girl listened and let the handmaiden clean her chest and ribs.

Sighing deeply, she squeezed her eyes even more tightly and tried to chase away the images of the Hound nibbling hungrily at her nipples that were now assailing her mind. Her effort proved fruitless, evidently. She would seemingly never rid herself of the memory of how the ugliest warrior in Westeros had used her body to take his pleasure.

Aware of how useless the fight was, Sansa disconsolately opened her eyes and peered into the soapy water. She was almost surprised to note that she was formed exactly as she had been before her deflowering, no matter how different she felt from yesterday at the same time. Her thighs, hips and breasts were as girlish to her eyes as she remembered them to be before she had been made _woman_.

It was mystifying that something as ordinary as her body could rouse so much passion in any man. Yet, there was no doubting the strength of the desire that had been awakened in the Hound as he viewed her bare curves. He had been a changed man from _the moment_ he had glimpsed her nakedness and the notion alone was enough to elicit all sorts of weird fluttering in Sansa's belly. As she grew aware of her own unwanted reaction, she wrinkled her nose and began squirming uncomfortably in the water but swiftly stilled when Sophia gazed at her with badly-hidden impatience.

Sighing, the old handmaiden shook her head but said nothing and resumed her ministrations. With the same careful efficiency, she started rubbing Sansa's thighs and the girl instantly raised her stare over her long, pale legs, recalling how Sandor Clegane had spread them as wide as he could and shoved his swollen member into the warmth between them. _Why do I have to replay each of his actions in my head, over and over again as I do?_ Sansa thought almost angrily, tossing her frowning head back. By allowing him to take her, not only had Sansa given him her maidenhood and made him her very first man but she had apparently also been dispossessed of her own body and that for far longer than the time of the _act _in itself. Indeed, every part of her now reminded her of the Hound, of how he had claimed her for himself, covered every inch of her and left her naught of herself to call her own. She had no shelter from him now, for even when she shut her eyes, any contact she felt brought to mind how his possessive hands had travelled every path her body offered.

Still, how could she possibly complain about anything at all? The man had not raped her: _she_ had been the one to propose the whole deal. _I gave him the right to it,_ she mused, fighting not to cover her face with her hands in shame. _And… I enjoyed it._

_No! No, that's untrue_! she rapidly corrected herself, her eyes wide with horror. How could she, after all? He was the Hound, all gloomy and gruesomely scarred, a warrior so intimidating that most knights were uneasy in his presence. There was no logic in thinking that she might have enjoyed the sacrifice she had made so very reluctantly! It had taken her _days_ of tormented reflection only to begin considering the idea of offering herself to him. There was certainly no possibility that she might have felt anything but disgust and pain during the deed.

And yet, as she was being cleaned by Sophia, each caress the man had given her kept coming back to her, the memory inducing her centre to vibrate in a very troubling manner. How weird had been the sensation of his manhood inside of her, so solid and big. Even stranger was the fact that by the end of their encounter, it hadn't even really hurt anymore. _Enough! I need to stop thinking about it. Now!_ Sansa scolded herself, totally abashed at her own scandalous train of thought.

What would her lady mother think if she knew about all this? That her young daughter had sold her maidenhood to the infamous Hound in exchange for his help and not even hated it? _She'll never need to know about it,_ Sansa tried to reassure herself. The deed in itself was another matter though. She would have no choice but to tell her the truth once they were reunited. After all, how could she explain her escape from a castle as well guarded as the Red Keep to anyone and make them believe she had achieved it _by herself_? It would be evident to all that she had had an ally and there'd be no use in pretending she had found one for free.

"You're all set, my lady. Please stand up," Sophia announced, a large towel in hands.

Without a word, Sansa obeyed and let the handmaiden wrap her in the dry fabric before stepping out of the bath. _Mother will approve of my actions once I explain everything to her. She'll only be happy to have me by her side again and won't judge the decision I was forced to make,_ Sansa tried to convince herself as she rubbed off the drops of water that still covered her skin. All she could do was pray she was right.

* * *

Sansa was sitting by her open window, working on her embroidery as she usually did when she was by herself. The day was beautiful and warm and it wasn't even midday yet. _A perfect day for leaving and never coming back, for escaping a cruel city on the deck of an elegant ship… _she mused with a sigh, wishing the time could finally come. From where she was, she could glimpse a slim strip of faraway water shining under the sun between the tall houses on the horizon. If only she could fly over its waves like a bird…

A few days had passed since the night the Hound had taken her. Still, it was hard for her not to think about what had transpired between them most of the time, especially when she was alone in her featherbed, waiting for sleep. It was also hard to ignore the throbbing she felt down in her belly at those lonely moments, when she recalled the events that had unfolded in the very bed she lay in. It was often temping to let her fingers travel down her stomach and reach that part of her but she had somehow always resisted. Still, she hadn't managed to prevent one of her hands from grasping her breasts and caressing their taut nipples sometimes, as she fell asleep. Sansa shut her eyes in shame at the memory. This would _have_ to stop and soon.

On a couple of occasions, she had seen Sandor Clegane again. When the first incident had taken place, she had been completely overwhelmed by nervousness and not only because of what they'd done when they'd last met but because of the way they'd left each other.

While the Hound was unquestionably a bitter and grim man, Sansa had glimpsed a part of him that wasn't so dark during the _act_ and to some measure afterwards as he dressed. He had even seemed to be somewhat good-humoured for a brief instant but his mood had rapidly soured when Sansa responded to his teasing with silence and eyes lowered to the floor. In reaction, he had quickly decamped from her room, his temper as foul as ever, and the girl had been too uneasy and most of all, _inexperienced_ to attempt anything that might quell his discontentment. In all honesty anyhow, she had been eagerly waiting for him to leave her room from the second he had risen from the bed and been relieved when she was finally alone. Later though when she had thought back on the events, Sansa had felt some measure of guilt for letting him leave in such a state but that was _ridiculous_ of course. All he had wanted was more of… _her_… of the deal they had agreed upon. Why should she feel bad for not indulging him in something he had no right to expect?

Yet, her guilt had seemingly not faded when their paths crossed again and that, added to her confusion, shyness and the man's intimidating presence, had brought Sansa's eyes to fly to the ground as soon as she glimpsed him in the throne room. It was of course ridiculous and absurd that she would react in exactly the same manner that had caused the Hound's irritation, considering the man's foul mood was the very reason that she felt guilty in the first place. Nevertheless, it was common knowledge that logic never prevailed where nerves were concerned and Sansa had only been able to agree as she fixed her eyes on the exquisite ceramic of the floor and waited for the beating of her heart to steady.

Only later, when she had felt somewhat less agitated, had Sansa chanced glancing in Sandor Clegane's direction and she had nearly gasped to realise that - unknown to the crowd which only had eyes for the fat Pentoshi ambassador that showed off all the wonderful presents he had brought for the king – the man was brazenly staring at her and had probably been doing it for some time. At first, their stares had locked – his cold and unreadable, hers timid and hesitant. After a moment though, the rigidity of his stance had lessened, his eyes narrowed slightly and the corner of his mouth curled very faintly. The change in him had startled Sansa so much that she had averted her eyes with the same haste as that of fingers touching fire. Staring at the fat ambassador while not truly noticing any of what he did, she had felt herself blushing fiercely, certain that the Hound's gaze was still on her, drinking her in as avidly as he did his strong wine. However when her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her and she dared peer in his direction again, he had been glowering at the emptiness before him and looked so dark and daunting that she had not grasped the courage to gaze anywhere near him afterward for the rest of the session.

On another occasion, they had met very briefly as Sansa headed to the godswood. The hall in which they had stumbled had been too crowded for them to talk and she was unsure if she had been relieved or not. The only thing of which she was certain was that from the moment she noticed the Hound's presence, she had jumped and tensed as she saw how intently he was staring at her. As far as she could tell by his gleaming eyes, he had seemed somewhat pleased at crossing paths with her and yet, his joy was so impure, tainted with something else… something of which Sansa now knew all too well. Her whole body as warm as a coal straight from the hearth, she had nervously lowered her gaze and quickened her pace until she was certain he was far behind and then only had she been able to breathe normally.

Only now as she stitched flowery patterns alone in her chamber, the girl was regretting not having at least tried to get some information from Sandor Clegane as to how his part of the deal was going. Had he secured a place for her on the ship yet? Had he already figured a way to get her out of the Red Keep unnoticed? And _when_ would the time finally come? Sansa had _hundreds_ of questions but was unsure if she'd ever get the chance or the nerve to ask any. She depended on him; that was unquestionable. Thankfully, she did trust him and she held on to that belief as one would a lifebuoy in the middle of an ocean. Had the Hound not repeatedly told her how much he hated liars?

_Knock! Knock!_ "Lady Sansa?" a deep voice suddenly came from beyond her door.

Jumping, Sansa turned toward the sound. "Yes? Who is this?"

"Ser Boros Blount. I'm here on the king's order."

Sansa shivered. "What is wanted from me?" she asked, unable to hide the fear that laced her voice.

"Our good king is going riding today. He wishes to try the new thoroughbred horse he has recently received. You've been asked to join him."

"Oh," Sansa murmured, feeling suddenly very anxious. "I need to change then. Has one of my handmaidens been informed?"

"No and there is no time for it either. The king is already waiting for you in the courtyard. He has asked me to escort you _at once_."

"Well, I'll try to manage by myself then-"

"No," Ser Boros cut her off with a resolute yet dispassionate voice. "This won't do either. You need to come _now_."

"But-"

"Open, Lady Sansa," he ordered, shaking the door.

Her heart in her throat, the girl jumped from her chair and ran. "All right! I'm coming!"

In haste, she unclasped the bolt and let Boros Blount in and just as soon, the man unceremoniously grabbed her by the arm and led her toward the stairs.

"Let's not make King Joffrey wait," he said in a tone so flat that Sansa doubted he had even a single clue of how submerged in dread she was at that instant.


End file.
